


The Weight of Expectation

by bigdeathenergy



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: :( so watch out for that, Divorce, F/M, Homophobia, I write this when I'm in my happy place, M/M, animosity between siblings, childhood neglect, mentions of:, there's gonna be some, this is pretty much the story of two of my farmers, very self indulgent, will add more characters as they appear! - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29107503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigdeathenergy/pseuds/bigdeathenergy
Summary: Brothers Jeremiah and Isaiah McKinney find themselves presented with opportunity. They each decide they need to take advantage, but in their own separate ways.
Relationships: Elliott/Male Player (Stardew Valley), Leah/Male Player (Stardew Valley), Sebastian/Male Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Jeremiah

Well, his pa hadn't been foolin' around none when he said the place had gone to the dogs. The soil'd apparently been rich enough to grow a whole host of weeds, spreading out like they aimed to take any inch of land that their roots could touch. Trees sprung up wildly and went on for at least a half mile, in patches that swallowed the late afternoon spring light. They were casting rays of sunshine here and there through thick canopy, which Jeremiah McKinney was using to see as far into them as he possibly could. With the fields so overgrown, his vision could only get him maybe thirty, thirty-five feet out, at most.

In it's glory days, this old farm had been clear enough to show a man the horizon just over tall and thick corn stalks, packed with the sweetest corn that was raised in the valley. These were fields that Jeremiah used to run barefoot through, chasing his brother and sister as the burning hot days made way for a tickle evening chill, with the distant scent of dinner wafting out from the open window. Grandpa had a whole host of men working the land at his side back then, for pay, and a percentage of the take from the crops, to make sure everyone had something good to take home to their families, when the long, hard day was through. Summer days were for exploring when they were young; no one kept an eye on all the cousins, so long as they all promised to have each other's backs, should something go wrong while they were out in the thick wilderness just south of the farm.

And Jeremiah, being the oldest cousin in the bunch, had kept watch over the whole band of 'em like they were his flock, even as they left home behind to venture out into Cindersnap for days long camping trips. They'd go fishing with spears they'd carved in the river, and jump off the dock into the pond all day. The whole lot of 'em leaving their city life behind for just a little while, to get a feeling for what it was like, to be nothing more that animals, roaming the vast green.

Those memories made him smile now, even as the weight of new responsibility loomed before him, and behind him, in the old home his father had long refused to sell. It hadn't seemed like much on paper, when they'd all sat around a glass table and listened to Pa's lawyer. Each one of them went about nursing something hot in the early AM; Isaiah and Norah took black coffee. Jeremiah himself? The green tea he'd switched to after he'd breached thirty years old. Even after his pa had pawned off everything else he'd owned, when his health had slipped out from underneath him and he'd made himself comfortable in an assisted living apartment near Zuzu, he'd clutched the farm and the shack tight. Couldn't let those go.

They'd both been Grandpa's, and Jeremiah knew better'n anyone, their father had a hard time letting go of _his_ father's things.

When the man in the suit was divvying out what little worldly items remained, Jeremiah had a feeling that it'd fall on him to make a decision on what to do with the property outside of Pelican Town. Isaiah tried to butt in, as he'd done since they'd been boys, fighting over who got to eat the last slice of pecan pie Ma had baked. But it was what the old man had wanted, and the deeds were handed over in a rusted metal lock box, which sat underneath his arm now, as he looked out over the fields.

Jeremiah hadn't even gone home to change out of his fine suit. First order of business had been to assess what kind of damage had been done while Pa was too sick to do upkeep, and too poor to pay for someone else to do it. Seemed he'd been letting it go for a real long time, even before he'd moved into the apartment. Ten years without a visit to a place'd do that to it; make it real different the next go 'round. If Jeremiah'd known that his old man had been having a rough time for that long, maybe he'd have come back sooner. Despite the bad blood between the two of 'em.

Or maybe not. Things weren't always that easy.

When he turned his back on the mess of land, it was only to go about jogging up the porch steps, and unlocking the small house in front of him. The little place where Grandpa and his three sisters had grown up, sharing one room with his great-grandpa and great-granny, too. Before the farm flourished, they couldn't afford much else, or so Pa had told it. Their dad had the wherewithal to recognize that it wouldn't be big enough for a modern wife, and three kids -- not when they had the money for a place with with enough bedrooms for Jeremiah, Isaiah, _and_ Caroline.

But when he pushed the door open (and it creaked something awful; hanging slightly crooked on its rusty hinges, one even rotted right out of the wood itself), all he remembered were those cozy summer nights again, where they'd all slept in sleeping bags on grandpa's floor, listening to the fire crackle in the hearth. After it'd become their father's home, long past the messy divorce that their parents had been through, Jeremiah wondered if there had ever a fire burning in there again. The same bed was over in the corner, though it wasn't much more than mattress stripped of it's sheets, covered in dust.

Cobwebs hung around the light fixture in the center of the ceiling, and in the darkest parts of the rooms. There was one sink with a leaky spout, a small electric oven nestled next to an old-timey wooden stove, and a fridge that wasn't as tall as Jeremiah himself, sat unplugged and pulled a handful of inches out from the wall.

Two windows, covered in grime and dust, let in a dim light from the outside. When Jeremiah tried to flip the switch, he wasn't sure if he'd expected something to happen, because there weren't no surprise in him when nothing did. His fancy funeral shoes thunked against the floor as he took a few steps in, box of deeds still under one arm, as he slipped his free hand into the pocket of his dress pants. Cicada song was loud outside, while he tried to mull over what he wanted to do with the wreckage of two generations past. Pa, and Grandpa, had grown up in this home, barely still standing.

"Excuse me?"

A voice from behind him spooked Jeremiah out of his thoughts, and when he whirled around, there was a man knocking on the splintered door frame sheepishly. Grey hair, age lines pulling at the corners of his eyes as he smiled beneath a full, grey mustache. His cheeks were red and his manner seemed jolly. He moved both of his thumbs underneath his suspenders and let them hang there a moment while his gaze made a grand sweep all around the room. A red-headed woman was making her way up the front porch behind him, carefully expecting each step that she took over the creaking wood.

"I don't expect you'll remember me, since the last time we saw each other, you couldn't have been a day older than ten years old. But if you're Jeremiah, Arnold McKinney's boy, then I used to come over and give you candied grapes when you'd come and see your grandpa in the summers." The little hop he did on his heels preceded him crossing the threshold into the home, and he thrust one hand out towards Jeremiah, which Jeremiah accepted with a warm smile.

Jeremiah himself did have fond memories of a man who used to come over and play cards with his grandpa in the evenings, after all the day's work in the field had been done. "That must make you Lewis," more over, Jeremiah never forgot a face or name. "Well, bless my soul. I can't believe it. You come over from Pelican Town? Grandpa always said you loved it too much to ever leave it."

"Well, he was right!" Lewis shook Jeremiah's hand with much gusto. "I love the place so much that I've gone and become the mayor. Which means I know all about the town's goings on. I heard someone had arrived on the bus and took the road down to the farm; I had an inkling it'd be one of the McKinney boys I used to see every year. I read about your Pa's passing in the newspaper. And I'd just like to say I'm sorry for your loss. He was a mighty good man."

"I thank you for your kind words, Mayor Lewis," Jeremiah nodded slowly, "He was a fighter until the very end. Beggin' your pardon, m'am," and then he gave a smile to the woman who was taking a gander at the tired wood of the door frame with a concentrated furrow in her brow, running one hand all the way up it. "I promise it won't fall down on you. Been up for almost a hundred years now, and it ain't even taken to leaning just yet."

"I don't know about that," she replied, forming a sorry smile. "From the looks of it, it's only got a few days left. And I'd know."

Lewis rushed over to her side, and set a hand on her shoulder, almost like he was about to present the woman as a show-dog. "Jeremiah, I'd like to introduce you to Robin, our town carpenter. She's got herself a shop just up the road a ways, near the base of the mountain."

"How do you do," she smiled to him, still resting her palm on the threshold, reluctant to take a step in. After setting her opposite hand on her hip she nodded, "I was a friend of your father's. We used to play together when we were just tiny tykes. I remember staying over at this old shack more than once. The way the wind used to howl through it in the winter time..." she gave a grim shake of her head, "Scared the ever loving daylights out of me."

And at that, Jeremiah couldn't help but let out a chuckle, something hearty, but small. "Well, it ain't no better in the summers, let me tell you. Especially if you're like my brother and sister and I, and insist on telling ghost stories the whole night through. Grandpa'd be snoring so loud in the corner, we couldn't ever decide which creak or moan was the house, the ghosts, or him." Oh, but, "Actually, since you're here, could I get your professional opinion? I was thinking about having an appraisal on the house, and the land. Seeing how much I could get for it if I'd sell it, or if ... well, if it'd be worth keeping and rebuilding the farm."

Lewis' eyes lit up like twinkling stars, but the grimace on Robin's face told Jeremiah more'n he needed to know, before she even opened her mouth. "Oh, Jeremiah, I'll give you my advice for free. This old place would blow over in the next thunderstorm, without a doubt. I'm no farmer, but the land out there looks overgrown, and hasn't been tilled in, what, nine or ten years? It'd be like starting from scratch out here. I wouldn't do it, unless you're willing to sink more money into it than it's worth ... I mean ..." Finally, she took a step inside, cringing when the floorboards gave a whine under her heels. "The amount of gold it would cost for me just to fix this place up would break anyone's bank. Have you got the money?"

It was enough to make his heart sink down into his gut. The job he was working now, full time as a Joja service rep over the phone, barely paid enough to cover his rent and utility expenses. The money he had in his account was in a measly triple digits, as in, hundreds. Three hundred and fifty to be exact, and that was set aside for his water bill.

"I don't have much, Miss Robin," he confessed, wetting his lips behind his mustache, and then reaching up to scratch his beard. The thing always took to itching, whenever he found his nerves getting to him. "But I suppose I'd be out of luck if I tried to sell it, instead. Probably only make crumbs, with it in the state it's in. Seems a rock and a hard place."

With his thumbs still in his suspenders while he was listening, Lewis nodded. "Well, then it seems to me that your only option is to work the soil into a desirable state, then, isn't it?" Walking over to the door, he looked out over the mess of natural debris. "Here's an old man's advice, if you'll take it. Right now, the land isn't what it used to be. But in it's glory days, your grandpa had people trying to buy his farm out from underneath him on the regular," Lewis paused, nodding with a quiet _mm-hm._ "And _his_ father had worked the soil himself. Why, I remember what those fields looked like when he first came to Pelican Town. We called it Bald Spot Farm, because we thought nothing'd grow here. His daddy worked and worked every day, until it was the most lush farm in the valley. It gave us fresh vegetables, fruits, dairy. If I recall correctly, he even raised fish in ponds, at one point. Helped repopulate the lake in Cindersnap."

Slowly, Jeremiah followed the mayor to the threshold, and looked out into the spring afternoon himself. "That sounds like a mighty noble undertaking, Lewis, but I only know so much about farming. I ain't done work like that since I was eighteen years old, and I know it breaks a man who ain't up to the task."

"So," Lewis continued, nudging Jeremiah in his shoulder. "How about this, then? Come into town, introduce yourself to all the folks who live there. Tell 'em you're trying to whip _Bald Spot Farm_ back into shape, and I guarantee you that they'll be so happy to have a farmer back in town, that they'll give you a few tips and tricks on how to get things running well again. We've got a library full of books, some even written by locals, that'll learn you a thing or two." After a pause to let the cicadas sing to them for just a moment, he reached the end of his proposal. "How's about you give it your best for one year. Low risk, with an end date in sight. Farm should be ship shape by then. After that, you can sell it to someone who'll take it over, and keep it yielding crops."

Before Jeremiah even said anything, Lewis started down his porch steps, stopping to turn around and look up at him from a few feet below. Robin followed suit, coming to the mayor's side with a pitying smile, brows knit together as she turned her gaze on the oldest McKinney boy. "Tell you what, Jeremiah. If you bring me the materials, I'll give you a discount on my labor, to get this house fixed up. If not just because I feel so damn bad for you ..." Robin and Jeremiah shared a sorry grin with one another. "It's foolhardy, but your dad was a hard worker, and if you're anything like him, I think you could do it. You'll need a lot of help, but luckily, Pelican Town is just chalk full of helpful people."

It'd mean quitting his job. Leaving his whole life behind for the exact same one that drove Pa into an early grave. But then, those memories started whispering in his ears again. Long, hot days in the fields, walking through the trees, fishing in the river down south, digging up shells on the beach, and watching the sun set over the valley. Jeremiah had almost constant dreams of this place, and woke up every morning wishing he could just fall back asleep, into the happy days of his childhood. And every time, he had to just ignore it, put himself into a suit and tie, and get onto a train full of unhappy people, stuck like flies on sticky paper, in the same routine he was.

Maybe this was what he needed. Maybe this was right for him. Was his father trying to help him? Even after death?

Difficulty be damned. Joja be damned. Life in the city, _be damned_. "Alright," he agreed. "I'll do it. I'm not so sure I can, but ... well hell, ain't nothing gained, that wasn't ventured, right?"

"Atta boy, son." Lewis set his hands proudly on his hips, raising his chin and grinning a smile that spread all the way up to his eyes. "Welcome back, Jeremiah McKinney, to Stardew Valley. We are so very glad to have you."


	2. Isaiah

The wind that picked up and tried to tangle with his blonde hair was briny. On the edge of the land he was casting a good look over now, foamy ocean waves lapped at sand that gave way to tall beach grass only a few feet in. Trees choked his view, and when Isaiah McKinney finally gave in and raised a hand to his forehead, in the hopes of getting a better look without the sun burning in his peripheral, he only saw more of the same, spanning on for a startling distance.

How there could be a farm on a plot so close to seawater, and a whole host of sand fleas, he did not know. It occurred to him, and not for the first time, that if the men in the suits had pulled one over on him, he would be absolutely shit out of luck. Daddy's voice in the back of his mind wasn't nothin' but a hearty laughter, because Isaiah had dropped every gold piece he had on this farm, mainly in an attempt to rebuke the bastard's final _screw you --_ leaving every inch of land to the McKinney name to Jeremiah, and Jeremiah alone.

If he could have been alone to tend to his misery, he might have just laid down right where he was and wasted away. As it was right now, he was being shadowed by a short, and stocky type of man. With wide, buggy eyes behind thick spectacles. A bow-tie that leant slightly too far to the left, and a black suit that no doubt was cookin' him good, under the high spring sun. Isaiah himself was not exactly dressed the part to be bending down and getting his hands dirty in the soil. His buy-in on the land had taken three hours in total, so he was standing here, now, one hundred and eighty minutes after his father's funeral.

"I know it doesn't look like much, Mr. McKinney," the man's name was Morris. He'd introduced himself with a weak handshake and a sneer, but, being a man who didn't quite know how to work a smile himself, Isaiah hadn't judged him on the grim way he played at one. "But I can assure you that this land was inspected by our top appraisers prior to purchase."

Isaiah scuffed at the dirt with his fancy dress shoes. The joke here was that, even if he hadn't just come from a wake, he might've still been wearing 'em. "I can't imagine anything'd grow in sand this close to saltwater, Morris. Seems more like Joja just wants me to believe it ain't taking me for a ride right now."

"The soil is as rich as your skill to make it work," he guaranteed, making a grand, sweeping motion across all this _mess_ with his arms, before he set them to rest on his hips. "There is endless potential here! 'But why, Mr. Morris, hasn't it been worked, then?' you're wondering. Well, Mr. McKinney, that's exactly why I asked to meet with you immediately."

Isaiah glanced up from the hole he'd been digging in the sand with his heel, and as much as he hated the way his face looked whenever he did it, he couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow. No one had told him that this was anything but an _investment_ in Joja's newest farm project, so imagine his _surprise_ when suddenly, a major corporation started hitting the low man on the food chain with hidden damned fees. His sigh must have told a real story, because Morris started nodding quick-like, before pushing his glasses back up his nose with one stubby, thick finger.

"Well, as soon as I saw your name, I wondered if you were Arnold McKinney's son. A little search on the web gave away your identity quick enough; you're quite active on social media, aren't you?" Morris grinned.

Isaiah, coincidentally, frowned.

"Your family has a bit of a reputation in Pelican Town," Morris continued, brushing past Isaiah's brutally honest disdain. "For making something out of nothing, you see. And we've been searching for quite a long time, in the hopes of finding someone who could, and would, help us grow crops in this area. You must see what I'm angling at here."

"Crystal clear," Isaiah looked away from Morris, sucking his teeth. "You think, just because my daddy and granddaddy were farm boys here in the valley, that I'd want anything to do with throwing my life away to, day in and day out, inch along piles of dirt with a watering can. For Joja, of all people."

Morris cupped his hands behind his back, but his grin was anything but defeated. The more Isaiah seemed against it, the more exciting wasting his breath obviously became. "Of course we'd equip you with sprinklers, Mr. McKinney. In fact, Joja would give you a very healthy monthly stipend, which you could spend on whatever you saw fit. We'd of course leave all the decisions on farm spending to the man who'd know best. Whether you drop your gold on a sheep or into a glass at the saloon in town, would be solely up to you, so long as Joja saw an acceptable profit at the end of the month."

It wasn't that Isaiah was greedy, it was just that he'd grown up poorer than dirt, and struggled his way through temporary work situations since he was sixteen years old. So that promise of gold every month, when the only thing he had to do in return was meet Joja's bottom line, doing something he'd grown up doing, well Hell. The trade came out a little too hefty with gains on his side of the scale, so he folded his arms over his chest, and gave Morris a once over, full of scrutiny.

The truth was, after what had happened this afternoon, finding his own way onto a farm just seemed like cruel comedy. Which, in turn, inclined him towards it.

"You gonna make me grow every crop under the Yoba be damned sun? Because I can tell you right now, there's certain things that won't yield much, with all that salt in the ground," he sniffed, agitated that yep, somehow Morris had pulled the farm boy out in him. "And I don't want to be responsible when your higher ups notice that they haven't been doing so well on pumpkins."

"You're the expert," Morris promised dismissively, "As for crops, well, we have other Joja Industries farms across the countryside. I'll level with you, Isaiah -- this one has been a bit of a dark horse; as soon as every other prospective employee took a look at the land, they all turned their noses up at it. We tried to sell it on the angle of year-round fishing, but no one bit."

The laugh that Isaiah let out was low, barely there. "That's because it's a shit heap; no amount of fishing would make this livable land."

"Your father could have whipped it into shape, according to the locals."

"Don't talk about my father. That ain't gonna win any favor from me," Isaiah promised, "Yoba forgive me for saying it, but that old bastard can probably feel my hatred all the way down in Hell."

The pause that passed over them was long, and mighty uncomfortable. Morris seemed genuinely taken aback that anyone would dare speak ill about the former McKinney patriarch, and when he eventually fell back into his sales pitch, it was definitely with a harder voice. "The point still stands. If he'd been alive and able, we probably would have come to him. I heard your brother Jeremiah just rolled into town this afternoon as well. I'm wondering now if we might have better luck making this offer to him."

Isaiah squared his jaw, brows coming to a furrow. "If I have complete and final say over what this farm produces, and a monthly stipend of twenty-eight thousand gold, then I'll get it done."

The number seemed to send Morris reeling. "Twenty-eight thousand? That's rather high --"

"Your farm is gonna take backbreaking work, Mr. Morris. And I suppose you're not looking to hire me a farmhand or two?" Isaiah pulled his ink pen from his back pocket, the one he'd brought along to sign any papers in the hopes his daddy had left him even a slice of pie. Didn't surprise him any that there hadn't even been a crumb to pass around, as soon as the list of what he'd left Jeremiah had been read. "If I'm all I got, that's fine -- it's what I'm used to. But I know my worth well and true. That's not a single gold piece less than twenty-eight thousand, monthly."

"A thousand per day, is it? You think your worth is a thousand per day?"

"No," and he couldn't help but break into a whisper of a grin. "I think I'm worth _more'n_ that, but I gave you the price I'd come down to, after all the useless haggling we'd do. Take it or leave it."

Isaiah's poker face was so well used, that he had a particularly good one. Talking a big game was a sport for him, and if there was ever anything to thank his father for, it'd most certainly be that. Jeremiah and Norah were like their mama -- they each wore their heart on their sleeve, so every single shadow of doubt that crossed over their expression revealed their hand. Isaiah, was lucky enough to look poised and ready to walk away, despite a lack of any real confidence in anything he ever did.

He supposed it was a small favor, when Morris said nothing. Instead, he went about pulling a folded up piece of paper from his back pocket. "I'll have to discuss a few things with corporate. But I think, once you give us a good monthly yield of produce, they'll understand why I chose to go with such an _expensive_ option. I'll just need you to sign on a few dotted lines."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do," he uttered it more to himself than Morris. Papers were shuffled between the pair of them, and where Isaiah didn't have much more than the average man did in ways of education, he still read through each page with a thorough inspection. Signing his life away to Joja had always been Jeremiah's mistake, not his. Here he was still, reeled into their employ like he hadn't seen what it'd done to their mother to see Jeremiah work long hours through the Feast of the Winter Star. Where there was gold to be made, Isaiah was a poor sap for it. Growing up in the poorest corners of Zuzu City could change a boy.

After he'd initialed his signature looping I.M., Morris accepted his forms back and blew on 'em. Likely to make sure the ink was dry before he folded 'em back up to slip in his fancy pocket. "Starting on the third, Joja will be sending out workers to box up what you've got ready for us each weekday. Your produce will be sold at the local JojaMart just east of here, in Pelican Town."

"How d'you expect me to have something to give you in _three days,_ Morris?" Off came Isaiah's glasses; sand was starting to collect in the bottom of the frame, from spring winds trying to blow the both of them around. "I'm not a miracle worker."

"For one thousand gold a day, I'm sure you'll figure something out, won't you?" Oh, and what a nasty man he was, mirroring Isaiah's actions to do little more than mock him, he suspected.

Joja's newest farmer hooked a thumb over his shoulder, at the eyesore of a house, barely standing behind him. "And this heap? Do you expect me to do something with it?"

"Entirely up to you, Mr. McKinney. Consider it a gift from Joja. To help encourage you to enjoy your stay here in the valley."

After they'd had their formal goodbyes, Isaiah left Morris to trek his way down the lonely road towards Pelican Town all on his lonesome, so that he might let himself into the old house that he'd just inherited from the most crooked corporation this side of Zuzu. He had started the day with the expectation that maybe his own father would have written him into the will, despite his sad and antiquated views about who his son was, as a person. After that'd coughed up nothing but dust, Isaiah had, just like always, found his own way. Without daddy's approval.

First thing about the house, there wasn't a window in the place that wasn't shattered. Second thing, it smelled like every seagull within a mile had nested in the floor above. The minute he entered the place, he was climbing carefully over what must have been long forgotten debris, praying to Yoba that he wouldn't fall through to a likely atrocious basement below. But there was something about the fact that it was his, that certainly warmed his heart to it. In the farthest corner in the top left, a tree had started growing through the wood paneling on the side of the house. Leaves were strewn about the floor like feathers, hinting to Isaiah that maybe it'd been there for a season or two.

Finally, he came to rest in comforting quiet for the first time all day.

Sat himself on the wood of a half collapsed stairwell, and allowed his blue eyes (the color of his daddy's) to fall shut, to focus mostly on listening. The sound of waves crashing just behind the house softened the coil of tension in his gut. The smell of salt on the air opened him up to deeper breaths, and even though it was the last thing he wanted to do for the bastard, Isaiah couldn't help himself but start to cry. Wasn't hard, fast, or loud. And he wondered if he didn't feel more sorry for himself, than for his old man.

He knew his father played at hating him, sure. It wasn't until this afternoon, that he'd found it wasn't just an old dog barking. He'd meant every mean word he'd ever said.

Didn't matter. He'd raised Isaiah to be a man capable of getting along on his own, regardless. And maybe it was always meant to be this way -- Jeremiah finds his way out from underneath the thumb of a company like Joja, the same day that Isaiah lets himself be indoctrinated. Things had always been softer, kinder, for his older brother. Maybe it was because he was a soft, kind man.

Isaiah knew that he, himself, was not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my other boy, who I LOVE.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I kind of started writing this as just a fun little thing between working on things to publish. Stardew has brought me so much happiness this past year and a half, that I just HAD to write something about the story I've come up with for my farmers, and how I see everything that sort of happens in game. This will probably be updated very lazily, but I will definitely return to it as time goes on <3


End file.
